Kennedy Airport was its usual chaotic mess as they maneuvered their way through the bustling terminal, looking for the bus that would take them to the subway.
“Welcome home.” Oliver yawned and rubbed his stubble.
It had been a twenty-hour flight from Sydney. Not fun in a too-small economy seat. The two of them had been squished in the middle row of five seats, between a honeymooning couple on the left, who noisily kissed the entire flight, and an adventure-tour-group on the right, who kept the stewardesses hopping with their cocktail orders.
Once outside the terminal, Schuyler took a deep breath and smiled. They had arrived in the middle of September, and the weather was still mild, with just a faint tinge of cold in the air. Fall was her favorite season. The hustle of the city, the limo drivers seeking their fares, the long line for yellow cabs, the taxi dispatcher barking at everyone to hurry up. It was good to be back.
They checked into a nondescript hotel by the West Side Highway, one of those big corporate institutions that was filled with weary business travelers. The room looked out into a light shaft, and the air-conditioning was noisy. Nonetheless, Schuyler slept soundly for the first time in months.
The next morning, Oliver reported to Conclave headquarters with his story, pledging his life to the Blue Blood community at large. Just as he’d predicted, once the Conclave got wind of what he was really offering (money), no questions were asked.
He told Schuyler afterward, back at their hotel, that the wardens didn’t even seem concerned about her disappearance, or about enforcing any disciplinary action. What happened in Paris had changed the game. It had forced the Conclave to reconsider its actions concerning Leviathan’s return. They had much bigger problems to deal with, and they just didn’t care about her anymore. Or so it had seemed.
“You ready to go, then?” he asked. He had made an appointment for her at Dr. Pat’s clinic. Patricia Hazard was the Conclave’s most trusted doctor and also happened to be Oliver’s aunt. “What did you do while I was out?”
“Nothing. I got an egg-and-cheese and a coffee from the deli across the street. Then I read the Post,” Schuyler told him. “It was heaven.”
Dr. Pat had redecorated. The last time Schuyler had been there, the office had looked like the lobby of a very white, very minimal, very modern hotel. This time the office resembled a bizarre but fabulous fun house. There were crystal vitrines filled with glass eyes. There was a lounge chair made out of stuffed animals that had all been stitched together; it was cute to the point of craziness. Venetian mirrors lined the walls, and fur throws were folded over white sofas. It still looked like a hotel lobby, but this time, instead of an ice queen, one expected Willy Wonka to appear.
“Hey, Dr. Pat, what happened here?” Schuyler asked as she followed the good doctor into the examination room (which she was glad to find still looked like a standard exam room).
“I got tired of all that dry-cleaning. White is really hard to maintain.” Dr. Pat smiled. “Oliver, your mother wants to know what you’d like for dinner,” she told her nephew before closing the door.
Dr. Pat had gone to their hotel room the night before to give Schuyler a thorough physical examination, taking blood samples, but she had asked Schuyler to come to the office for the results.
“So. What’s wrong with me?” Schuyler asked, hopping onto the table.
Dr. Pat referred to her chart. “Well, all your bloodwork came back normal, for a human as well as a vampire. Blood pressure, thyroid, everything. Normal.”
“But there must be something.”
“Oh, there is.” Dr. Pat put down the clipboard and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Isolation is not good for the immortal soul,” she said. “You must be among your own kind, you have been away too long. Your body has become tense, toxic.”
“That’s it?” Schuyler asked. “That’s the reason why I’ve been so sick lately? Because I’ve been away from other vampires?”
“Strange as it sounds, yes.” Dr. Pat nodded, tapping on her stethoscope. “The blood calls to same. You have been alone, stressed, and alienated from vampire society. My nephew tells me you went to the Bal des Vampires in Paris. Did you feel better when you were there?”
Schuyler thought about it. She hadn’t noticed in the adrenaline of the moment, but Dr. Pat was right. During the time when she was surrounded by Blue Bloods she had experienced none of the uncontrollable shaking and trembling. Except, of course, for those few minutes she had spent alone in the dungeon. A hundred feet below-ground, away from everyone, until Jack arrived. The tremors had returned once she and Oliver had hit the road.
“They say no man is an island,” Dr. Pat mused. “It’s the same for Blue Bloods.”
“But what about my grandfather? Lawrence was exiled. He lived alone for many, many years, away from his people. Yet he never exhibited any of my symptoms,” Schuyler argued.
“Your grandfather, as I recall, was an Enmortal. A rare breed. Capable of long periods of isolation from the community. He chose exile because he knew he would be able to handle it. Physically and mentally.”
Schuyler absorbed the diagnosis. “It just . . . seems . . . too easy an explanation,” she finally said.
“You know, Schuyler, the Red Bloods have a word for it too. Homesickness isn’t just a state of mind. It has physical symptoms as well. Your vampire self makes you stronger and faster than any human being. But the vampire in you also exaggerates every human ailment you might feel. You’ve got the best of both worlds, so to speak.”
CHAPTER 41
Mimi
Two weeks after the White Vote was called, Mimi found a note in her Conclave e-mail asking her to visit Forsyth at the Repository in the Force Tower that afternoon. Her last class was a free period, so she finished early and took a cab.
She had to be at the Repository anyway. The other evening she had been looking for her favorite fountain pen and thought to rummage around Charles’s study. She remembered she had left it there the last time she had needed a quiet space to do her homework. Her father’s office was as tidy as always, with nothing on his desk but a Tiffany clock and a desk calendar. Mimi had checked drawers and cabinets, but did not find her treasured Montblanc.
She had sat in his leather swivel desk chair and spun, looking around the room. A few unmarked cassettes shoved toward the back of a shelf caught her eye. She stood up and examined them. What was Charles doing with such old audio equipment?
They were marked RH: Audio: Ven. Rep. Repository of History Audio Archives. Venator Reports. Usually tapes from the Repository came with written transcripts, but Mimi couldn’t find any. She turned the tape over to see which Venator had filed them. MARTIN. These were Kingsley’s reports, from his assignment two years ago. The one that had sent him to Duchesne.
What were they doing in Charles’s office? They belonged in the Repository. And if Mimi wanted to listen to them, she would have to borrow an old tape recorder from the archives. She knew the Conduits were uploading everything onto digital files now, but they had obviously missed these. She had put the tapes in her pocket and taken one final look around the room. Where was Charles anyway? What had happened to him? Jack was convinced he wasn’t dead. If Michael’s spirit was gone from Earth, they would know for certain, he had argued.
At last night’s meeting, the Conclave had voted to send Venators after the missing former Regis, and a team was being assembled. She knew her brother was disappointed not to have been picked for the assignment. But Forsyth had been adamant: they needed the twins here, he said. They couldn’t leave the Coven so unprotected.
As she walked into the Force Tower that afternoon, she wondered what the senator wanted to talk to her about. Forsyth had never sought out her company before, and they had not spoken about her objection to his crowning.
“You wanted to see me?” Mimi asked, walking into the light-filled corner office after Forsyth’s secretary announced her arrival. She noticed that he had set up shop in the same office Lawrence had chosen when he was Regis. Talk about overconfidence. Charles had used the one in the old building under Block 122.
“Madeleine. Thanks for stopping by,” Forsyth said. “Doris, hold my calls, will you dear?”
His secretary closed the door, and Mimi took a seat across from the expansive walnut desk. She noticed that even though Forsyth had taken over Lawrence’s office, he still kept the former Regis’s photos of Schuyler on his desk. Mimi wished she had dressed up more; she had come straight from gym, and hadn’t bothered to change out of her ratty Duchesne Athletics T-shirt and red running shorts. She put her bags on the floor and waited for him to speak.
“I just wanted to commend you on your work with the Venators. You did a fine job in Rio.” He beamed.
Mimi scoffed. “Yeah. Right. We didn’t find her.”
“Only a matter of time, my dear. Kingsley will find her. I have no doubt. He’s quite . . . resourceful,” Forsyth said, with a hint of annoyance Mimi could not help but notice.
“All right. Well, thanks. I did want to go on another mission, but the Conclave says I have to finish Duchesne first. The school isn’t going to hold my place for that long.”
“Alas, that is true. It is unfair, is it not, that we have to go through the rigmarole of a human childhood and adolescence. But it is in the Code,” Forsyth said, getting up to fix himself a drink from the bar cart. He picked up a carafe and poured a shot of whiskey into a glass.
“Want one?”
“No thanks.” Mimi shook her head. “Um, is that all? May I be excused now?”
“Oh, I am carrying on as usual. Bliss likes to tease me about being a big blowhard.” Forsyth smiled, taking a sip and walking around his desk so he could lean on the edge of it and look down at Mimi.
Mimi sank lower in her seat. Llewellyn rarely spoke of Bliss. The bemused father act didn’t suit him too well: it felt bogus, like he was trying to sell her a used car, or get her to believe he cared an iota about his daughter. At least Charles and Trinity had tried to be there for Mimi and Jack during their transformation. As far as Mimi knew, Bliss’s parents never bothered to explain to her what was happening.
“How is Bliss?” she asked. Mimi had bumped into her a couple of times, and Bliss had seemed friendly enough, but their conversations never seemed to go anywhere. She didn’t know why that was, but something about Bliss made her feel nervous and giggly.
“She’s much better.” Forsyth Llewellyn nodded. “Anyway, I called you in today to discuss a rather delicate situation . . . and forgive me if I offend . . . I realize this may not be the right time for such an occasion, but I feel that after everything that’s happened with the Conclave . . . the community needs something to lift its spirits right now, and perhaps, if I may . . .”
Mimi made a motion to let him continue.